Letters
Dear Mandee,
( April 3rd, 2008 )
I wish that things would of turned out differently then they did. But I cant change it. What happened, happened. If you don’t want to have anything to do with me that is your choice. You remember this, and that is I love you very much and I love my grand-babies with all my heart. Talking to you Mandee is a painful thing to do sometimes. I have heard that crap for years now about how I treated you growing up. I do believe you stretch the truth to make it more dramatic for who ever you are telling it to. As of now I don’t want to hear anymore. I cant change the past and I am tired of it being punished for it. I do believe that you would be so much happier and healthier if you just let it go and get on with your life and quit playing the victim all the time.
If you don’t like this family, fine. But you don’t have to call them names or say that we are stupid or even call them trailer trash. If you don’t have anything nice to say don’t say anything at all. And don’t be posting crap about this family anymore on your MY SPACE bulletin board. That is pretty low Mandee even for you.
I want to be a part of your life but I am going to let you make the first move. I will stay in contact with Jack and Vaiy through the mail. Think about what I said.
Mom
________________________________________________________________________________________________
Dear Mother,
Things would have turned out differently if you weren’t such an overbearing, control freak. Things would have turned out differently if you admitted defeat when it was staring you in the face. Things would have turned out differently if you’d have stood up for me and allowed me to be upset when it was within my rights to be that way. Things would have turned out differently if you could have been enough of an emotional adult and had the capability of handling a situation without screaming and throwing your weight around.
It is my choice not to have anything to do with you. I’m finished. There’s only so much a person can take. And I’ll be honest when I tell you, that really, it doesn’t hurt the way I thought that it would. I’ve had the choice for 9 years now, not to have anything to do with you, and now I think I’ll exercise that right. Like you said, I’m free, white, and 21. Welcome to the adult world. Welcome to taking responsibility for your actions. Everything I do and say to my children, I am aware, will sculpt them into who and what they become when they’re older, adults, parents and grandparents. It’s all a chain of events. Your mother treated you like shit, so I guess you thought it would sociably acceptable to treat me like shit.
Well guess what? Unlike you, I’m not going to keep going back to it, over and over again. That’s my choice, just as much as it was yours. Just like it was your choice to date the men that you did, to leave me in places where you convinced yourself that I’d be safe for the sake of a few fun drug parties. Just like it was your choice to sleep with a man who was nearly 10 years older than you, conceive me, and then dump me. Just like it was your choice to pick your felon husband, who you fought with constantly, who is sexually and verbally abusive to you, over me. For someone who loves me so much, you have a really fucked way of showing it.
Your choices will forever reflect my own. Because for every mistake you made, I will work doubly hard to be sure not to repeat the same offense. I am better than you, and I will be better than you, just as my children will be better than me.
You don’t even know my children; by face and name only. When you’re gray and whithering away in some retirement home, when you’re hooked to a machine and you’re alone and dying, though I will have forgiven you, your choices in life will coincide with your lonliness. I forgive you, because if I don’t, then I am not deserving of forgiveness. I value myself more than you’ve ever dreamed of. How can a person who doesn’t know how to love themselves, profess love for others? I don’t need your kind of love. No one, especially my children, need your kind of love. Hypocrite tastes bitter on my tongue.
Talking to -me- is painful? You don’t even know how to talk, Mother. All you know how to do is accuse and yell. You don’t know how to talk. You don’t even know how to think for yourself. You’re uneducated, ignorant and pissed off at all the wrong people. Talking to -you- is painful. Pretending that I want to hug you, to satiate your need for self satisfaction and gratification of your little to no parenting skills. I can’t even stand you touching me. There is nothing more repulsive to me, than to think of you giving me affection. When you open your mouth I can watch you struggling, I can see the tension in your face at the thought of keeping your tongue behind your teeth and your opinions to yourself. Opinions are nice to have and share, if you’re not running over the top of people, sporting your self-importance. And whoah be the person who proves you wrong or dares to challenge your words. Whoah be the person who decides to stand up to you.
You’ve heard the crap for years, have you? You’ve never heard a word I’ve ever said. What about me? How much shit have I heard? How many nights of crying and whining about Grandma, Susie, David, Terry..Aunt Jan. How many times have you told a story and added just a little something extra to it? Grandpa Jack would be ashamed of you, of everyone who is there right now. I’m sad to say it, but I’m glad he’s not alive to see the way this family has fallen apart, God Rest his Soul. How many of your claims have been shot down by other people, claiming that you’re “over dramatizing” the event, or just flat out lying? How many times, Mother? Countless, motherfucking countless times! I am a victim, just as anyone is who has had to deal with you longer than a month.
Jesus, you ruined your relationship with Bridget. You ruined your relationship with Janice, and what was one of the breaking factors in both? The beatings you gave me. They didn’t agree with your method of child abuse and because they disagreed with you, they become the enemy. And when someone is your enemy, you do a fine job of hurting them as much as possible. An attribute for which I’m half guilty of posessing. But again, that just makes me a victim of World War Janie.
How dare you?
As of now you don’t want to hear anymore? Are you kidding me? Who do you think you are? You’ve been spouting your shit for years at people, you meet them, give them your great sob story and rely on your control drama of pity to maintain the friendship, all but using guilt to keep them around. Well guess what, Mother? You can’t guilt me anymore. You can’t make me feel sorry for you. You’ve made your choices in life, you’ve decided the path you want to travel. And don’t worry Mother, I don’t want to talk about it anymore than you want to hear it.
You’re tired of being punished for it? What did you think was going to happen? You were going to ruin someone’s life, treat them as if they were less than a person, beat them whenever you lost your temper, treated them as if they were the very bane of your existence, give them up time and a time again, avoid responsibility and you think you’re not to be punished for it? Of course you are. You should be fucking buggy whipped for each time you laid your hands on me. And fuck those trailer trash mother fuckers who allowed the cycle of abuse to continue. Not because they were scared to say anything, but because they just didn’t care about me.
I was a little girl, and you left me with them. I was a child who needed the -one- parent that she had, and you left me with the -one- parent that fucked you up beyond repair. I was a child who needed someone to love me, and you left me with the -one- person who hated me most in this world. I was a child who needed her mother, and you.left.me. And you don’t deserve to be punished? I’m just supposed to forget it all? I’m just supposed to tuck it away in the back of my mind and not deal with it anymore? I did that for a very long time mother, and you want to know what happened? I imploded. I have three lovely scars on the inside of my left wrist to prove it. I lost my god damn mind last summer. I hurt in ways I didn’t even know was possible.
How many times am I going to be punished for -your- transgressions? How many times am I going to bear the brunt of your mistakes in life? Why were you the drug addict, but I’m the one who is accused of being the user? Why were you a whore, and I’m the one who is accused of sleeping around? Why were you the one who abandoned me, but I’m the one who doesn’t know how to stay in one place longer than two years? Why am I always paying for your fucking mistakes, mother? And why do you get to be the victim?
If I don’t have something nice to say, don’t say anything at all? You’re a fine one to talk. But that’s all right because when you do it, you’ve just lost your temper and that’s forgivable. But when I speak my mind, and tell the truth that’s burning in my heart, I’m the traitor. Well let me tell you something…you’re the traitor, not me. You betrayed me the moment you left me, every time you walked away. I needed you to love me, not just hear it, but actually love me, and you couldn’t. You’ve hated me all of your life, and only guilt drives you to this pseudo version of love.
That’s all right Mother, for all of the love you’ve lacked all of my life, I make it up in spades to my children. For every cruel word you gave me, or allowed to be spoken to me, I make up for with tender affection to my kids. For every mistake you made, it’s a lesson that I’ve learned. Every person is a teacher, whether they realize it or not.
As far as Myspace goes, I’ll post what I wish, when I wish; thank you First Amendment. If what I’m saying isn’t true, then what do you care what I say? The truth hurts mother, you are all white trash, and I wash my hands of you. Feel free to send the children anything you wish, it’ll only be sent back and posted “return to sender”. You’re affection is not wanted anymore. Too little, too late.
And I have thought about your words, for a very long time now and you know what? You’re right, I would be much happier and healthier if I let it all go; you and that dysfunctional family included.
Goodbye Mother,
Amanda
Fayne said,
April 17, 2008 at 1:48 am
ps. your husband smokes pot behind your back.
lissa said,
April 18, 2008 at 6:09 am
{{{{{hugses}}}}}
The only thing is, I came here to leave a big eloquent huggity wuggity comment – ’cause you know how I understand it and that I adore you – but then your PS made me snort Diet Coke out my nose and now I can’t be all squishy and empathetic, damn it, I can only think of hugging you and giggling like a loon.
Magnolia said,
April 22, 2008 at 2:33 am
PLEASE tell me you put that PS on there.
Fuck her. You know how I feel about her and what she’s done. That letter was just nothing more than “You hurt my widdle feelings and I want you to apologize”.
Fuck her right in the ass.
Fayne said,
April 22, 2008 at 3:14 am
Actually, I didn’t send it to her. I thought the best punishment I could give her was silence. I’ll let her stew for the rest of her god damn life, she’s the one that chose herself over her only child. I have two loving parents, I don’t need that trailer trash bullshit.
~smiles and hugs~
Love you both